


Through a Mirror, Brightly

by nocturnias



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drama, F/M, Gen, One Shot, One True Pairing, Post Reichenbach, Prompt Fic, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-16
Updated: 2012-06-16
Packaged: 2017-11-07 20:58:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/435378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nocturnias/pseuds/nocturnias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has been staying with Molly, but now it's time for him to go.  His deductions, and the courage to act on them,  meet in Molly's bathroom mirror the night he leaves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through a Mirror, Brightly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [conchepcion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/conchepcion/gifts).



> A/N: BBC and Mofftiss own Sherlock. I just borrow them all to be a storyteller.
> 
> This is a response to this LJ prompt: "A bit angsty, maybe  
> "You look sad, when you think I can't see you."  
> Some time after TRF, Sherlock says this to Molly."

Molly stared at her reflection in the mirror. She looked the same on the outside. Almost.

There was a sparkle in her eyes that had not been there before, and a tight, determined set to her lips.

Both were the result of being kissed by Sherlock Holmes.

She recalled for the: what, tenth time? Hundredth? It didn't matter. It wasn't going away. The night before he'd left, she'd looked up in the mirror and gasped at the sight of him watching her.

"Why are you-" she began, but he cut her off.

"Why do you do that, Molly?"

"Do what?"

"Look sad. You look sad...when you think I can't see you."

Molly blinked, struggling to keep everything inside her like she'd sworn she was going to do. "I don't, I'm not-"

"Yes, you do. And you are." He moved into the bathroom, turned her around and locked his eyes with hers. He reached one long, cool hand up and cupped her cheek. "Is this why you're sad?" he asked softly.

His nearness, his touch, destroyed her ability to hold the tears at bay. "Sherlock," she whispered.

"Don't be sad," he whispered to her, looking none-too-happy himself. "I don't want you to remember me this way."

And then he kissed her.

Molly had no idea how long that kiss lasted. She was falling, she was flying, she was breathing and she was drowning all at once. She reached up and ran her fingers through his curls, desperate, determined that if this was all she'd ever have from him, by God, she was going to take everything she could have from it.

When it ended, both of them were breathing heavily, and Sherlock looked shocked: though whether it was at her boldness or his own response to the kiss, she couldn't say.

He took her hands in his. "I will be back, Molly. I don't know when, but I will be back."

She nodded vigorously. 

"But it's not fair for me to- I can't-" he seemed to be struggling to express himself, something she'd never witnessed before.

"It doesn't matter," she told him, grasping his hands harder, pressing against him so tightly she could feel the beating of his heart. "I can't move on with or without you. So I will wait, Sherlock Holmes. I will wait for you, however long, however far, until you come home to us."

He smiled, a sad smile, but happy, somehow, too. "You must love me very much, to wait for such a horrible man as I, Molly Hooper."

"I'm just crazy, I guess," she answered, and he chuckled. 

They walked together to the door, and he donned his disguise. He looked down at her. "When I return... will you have dinner with me? I know a wonderful Italian restaurant." He cocked his head. "If it's still there when I get back."

Molly laughed, a strangled, ecstatic sound. "Yes, Sherlock. I will."

"Excellent!" he beamed. He tilted his head the way she knew he did when he was thinking. "I suppose that's rather like a date, then, isn't it?"

"I suppose so, yes," she replied, moving to embrace him.

He put his arms around her, absently stroking the top of her head. "Well. All right, then. It's a date."

"I promise not to make horrible jokes," Molly said, and he laughed, a genuine laugh, rich and warm and full of the life she'd helped Moriarty not take from him.

"Don't change yourself, Molly," he said, tilting her face up. "The last thing I want is to come back to a complete stranger as my pathologist."

"I won't," she said softly.

He kissed her one more time, their lips desperate, passionate, sealing something between them that Molly couldn't explain except that it was definitely good.

"Goodbye for now, Molly Hooper," he said quietly. "Remember everything I told you." His eyes brightened a bit. "Everything."

"I will. I promise."

With a final faint smile and squeeze of her hand, he was gone.

Gone but never forgotten, Molly thought, brushing her hair. The hair that he had touched. The hair that he'd asked her, by extension, not to change.

She smiled at her reflection. 

This was no time to cry, to mourn. This was a time to play her part: the part he needed her to play. Yes, she would miss him more than almost anyone she'd ever missed before. But this was Sherlock Holmes.

He was taking her to dinner. On a date.

Molly was never leaving. And eventually, someday, Sherlock was coming back.


End file.
